


hid from our own shadows

by ftera



Series: the thing about loving monsters [1]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Rhys is Handsome Jack's Personal Assistant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-11 23:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftera/pseuds/ftera
Summary: He doesn’thaveanything with Rhys, he tells himself. Sure, the kid is cute and is good arm candy. And— okay, maybe he likes to spoil him, only because he’s pretty and he gets pouty sometimes when Jack denies him something. And— fine! Maybe Rhys has a nice ass and Jack likes to take advantage of that, especially when pheromones are coming off the kid something awfully strong. But that doesn’t mean anything.They aren’t anything.But then Rhys shows up in the doorway, pressing himself up against the frame looking almost skittish. “Jack?” he asks, tone hesitant and unsure and, fuck, if Jack’s breath doesn’t stutter a bit.





	1. downfall

**Author's Note:**

> me @ me: will you ever finish any of your writing
> 
> well!! I'd hoped to have most of this written out before posting any of it but sort of fell out of it after writing the first three chapters, but I have it mostly??? planned out so I'm hoping posting it will just give me motivation to finish it ::prayer emoji::
> 
> anyway, enjoy!!

Rhys doesn’t know how it starts, exactly.

One morning he’s coming into work early as usual, handing his boss his normal over-sugared coffee and briefing him over what his schedule is _supposed_ to be. He takes the usual complaints he gets about certain meetings but reminds Jack in a stern tone that his noon meeting has already been rescheduled three times and he refuses to do it again. Jack pouts, trying to look the part of pathetic to try to appeal to Rhys’s biological need to _please_ , but Rhys is serious about not wanting to talk to Dahl representatives about moving the meeting again, so he narrows his eyes and continues down the list instead.

Jack is displeased about it, and let's Rhys know as he forcibly makes Jack get out of his chair in order to make it to the meeting on time. “I hate talking to the representatives. They always send alphas and they're always idiots.” If Rhys didn't know any better, he would call Jack out for sounding like a child, but he favors his tongue and kindly keeps his mouth shut. (He also doesn't mention that when the meeting had originally been set up for two weeks ago there was a chance of them talking to Dahl’s CEO, but now the omega was on heat week and so the alpha reps were the only option left.)

“They stink up the place,” Jack complains as Rhys follows after him to one of the more impressive (read: intimidating) conference rooms. Though he usually hates to agree with the man, he silently admits that Jack isn’t wrong. Rhys had never smelt _scared alpha_ before coming to work as Jack’s PA but in seemingly every meeting that involves Dahl, the stench floods the room and always seems to linger in the halls surrounding the meeting rooms for days afterwards. It curdles something in Rhys’s stomach that, had they been familiar alphas, would make him want to _soothe_ but for the most part it just makes him feel sick.

So Rhys spends the day in meeting rooms taking notes for Jack and definitely _not_ admiring his boss or the fear he seems to inspire in even alphas and adding in several comments that involve his own research when the Dahl delegates seem to think that they can sway Jack into their favor. Thin trickles of irritation make their way to Rhys overly sensitive nose whenever he does, but then Jack will make a noise somewhere between a grunt and a growl and the pungent scent of fear rises up again before Rhys can even blink.

The time that Rhys doesn’t spend in meeting rooms are at his desk trying to either plan out Jack’s week or skim through emails, answering the ones he can and sending the others to Jack to deal with when he feels particularly spiteful towards his boss. He spends the rest of his day doing this and dealing with Jack when he starts getting bored, of all things, and then packs his shit up and leaves around 5. 

And then the next day everything is normal, coming in early and handing over coffee and reciting his schedule and, without missing a beat, Jack says, “Clear everything after my noon meeting, cupcake, and don’t make plans.”

“Jack?” he asks, hand hovering over his keyboard. He absently notices that his pinkie twitches. Rescheduling everything this afternoon is going to be a _nightmare._

Jack is very carefully not looking him directly in the eyes, which is— oddly considerate, really, but mostly just weird. Jack doesn't _do_ considerate, and certainly not towards Rhys. “You, ah, keep track of your heat in that fancy calendar of yours?”

Rhys _does,_ actually, but he doesn't need to start taking suppressants for another few days. “Of course I do. I still have about a week before my next one.” The question is a little out of the blue— he isn't feeling the symptoms of an oncoming heat and he usually reminds Jack the day before and over the comms the hours leading up to his suppressed pity party because Rhys isn't exactly sure how Jack survived without him before to remind him to take breaks and eat, but—

“You telling me you just _smell_ like that, princess?”

_Oh._

Rhys pauses for a moment, wondering whether or not he used scent blockers this morning. He's never had to think about it before because he _never forgets_ , but maybe accidents happen and his mind slipped for once. Except when he activates his palm there's a little note that pops up telling him he needs to pick up more of his prescription by the end of the week because he'll be out by then.

It's not an endotype thing. Or, it is an endotype thing, but not really.

Being an omega is nothing he's ever tried to hide. Sure, the majority of higher-ups in Hyperion are alphas, but over the past few years more and more betas and omegas have taken place in high roles. So it isn't like he needs to hide what he is to get places. Jack doesn't even really care about endotypes— if the job gets done right, who cares who's doing it? (Jack doesn't care that the person he hired as his assistant is an omega and that he gets a little weird about strangers being in the office and that sometimes he nags Jack because it's biology to nurture and that he takes off two or three days every three months to sit at home doped up on suppressants while eating ice cream and trying to ignore the low buzz of arousal in his gut. He doesn't _care_ about that shit. Rhys doesn't try to reflect upon it.)

The problem is Rhys’s nose. Omegas are notorious for their superior sense of smell— it's what allows them to be so aware of their surroundings and know how to deal with the endotypes around them that are physically stronger. And that's fine, really, except Rhys is ten times more sensitive than he should be. It used to be really bad when he first started presenting— hyper aware of every tiny scent near him, migraines when it all became too much that lead him to getting nosebleeds and being grossly sick and sitting in dark, empty rooms for hours on end to try and will it away.

The scent blockers were a blessing in disguise. Because of his heightened sense it didn't entirely erase all of the smells around him. If it was particularly strong there was no hiding it from him, but that was fine. All of the smaller things were practically gone unless Rhys tried to focus on them, so it all worked out.

He had almost forgotten that, in turn with blocking scents from him, it also blocked his own. It wasn't usually an issue, but Rhys knew that when he came home to his shared apartment at night when the scent blockers were finally starting to wear off Vaughn complained that he always smelled too _sweet_. For even a beta to pick up on an omega’s scent meant few things, and none of them meant any good unless it was Rhys, whose stronger pheromones meant he could smell more and others could smell him more in return.

Rhy’s scent blockers had never worn off so early in the day before.

 _You just_ smell _like that?_ Jack's voice rings in his ear and, oh, it's been so long he doesn't even recognize his own scent anymore.

“I— yeah?” Rhys answers nervously, desperate now to have Jack's attention off him. It's bad enough that Vaughn can pick off his scent without the blockers. He can't imagine what it must be like to Jack, whose alpha nose is hardwired to pick out an omega’s scent. “Sorry about that, I must've forgotten to use my scent blockers this morning.”

Jack's eyes are sharp on the side of his face. The sense of panic rising up in him isn't unfamiliar but it feels old. He can't remember the last time he's actually been _afraid_ of Jack (four years is a long time, after all, and if he wasn't fired yet for being a dumbass then he doubts he will be any time soon) but he's always been extremely sensitive about his own scent. On scent blockers, he'd essentially been a beta as far as anyone’s sense of smell went— something light, something subtle, nothing anyone would really think about twice. It was something Rhys preferred. Being treated as a beta was easy, simple.

Because of his time off for heats Jack _knows_ that he is an omega, but Rhys feels as though it is too intimate. Only a handful of people know he is actually an omega and even less have actually smelled him without blockers in the way. Jack hasn't been given _permission_ to know, a small voice says in the back of his head, and it makes him want to curl up and make himself smaller.

Jack is far from a threat where they stand now, sitting in Jack's office like they are almost every morning, but Rhys is starting to pick up more scents around him— tiny, insignificant things— and it makes him feel far too vulnerable. The last time he felt like this he was fifteen and just settling into his endotype.

“Scent blockers?” Jack asks, a curious and confused lilt to his voice.

Shifting nervously, Rhys glances around the room, at his desk, the bookcase, anywhere but Jack. “My nose is extremely sensitive. The scent blockers help to dull a lot of the scents, but they block mine too, for the most part.” He pulls up the reminder again, glares at the timestamp from this morning. His blockers have _never_ stopped working before, so why now?

He isn't sure when Jack got up and when he made his way over to Rhys’s desk, but suddenly he's there, leaning forward into his space. “And you wear them everyday?”

Rhys frowns now, wondering at Jack’s interest. “Yes.”

And then there are fingers on his jaw, tilting his head up to expose his throat. Rhys freezes in place, breathing as little as he can, as Jack leans forward until their heads are side by side, cheeks almost touching. Jack's nose presses very briefly against the space behind his ear and trails a little down his jawline before the contact is gone, leaving Rhys wondering if he'd just imagined it. (As if he could— it always feels like his skin is _burning_ whenever Jack touches him, like there's something beneath the layers there waiting to burst free and needs to be coaxed out through Jack's calculating fingers.) It's an intimate gesture, one Rhys hasn't partaken in since he was in college and thought he was in love.

(Jack's scent this close is— almost too much, and the faint echo of a headache presses near his eyes. It can't mean anything good.)

Humming, Jack pulls his hands back and makes his way back to his desk. “Suits you, cupcake,” he says, and leaves it at that.

_What?_

Rhys blinks once, twice, but nothing more is said, so he just shakes his head, tries to push what just happened out of mind, and makes way for the coffee pot. It's going to be one of _those_ days, he notes. Today will be a _cryptic Jack_ day, which will mean nothing to anyone else because they either don't pay attention to Jack when he rambles or they're trying to save face if Jack is anywhere near them. To Rhys, however, it means anything from sending Rhys on a wild goose chase for information only Jack has access to or speaking around Rhys in half thoughts and things that wouldn't make sense to anyone but Jack himself.

These types of days are rare and Rhys still doesn't know what triggers them, but when Jack gets really into it they're the worst to suffer through.

Most days like this, Rhys will carry out whatever ridiculous task Jack has given him and then spend the rest of the day on the floor beneath Jack's office, which gives him a breathtaking view of the city and the guarantee that no one will bother him. Jack doesn't seem like he's about to speak to Rhys any time soon, though, so he turns back to his computer and continues scanning through emails.

 

* * *

 

This is what life in the big city of Helios looks like for Rhys. 

Every morning on Helios is gray. Rhys isn't sure if that's because Helios always seems to be a little gray, a little gloomy, or if it's because Rhys is up before the sun is in failed attempts to get to work before his boss. It’s gray and vaguely depressing, but Rhys pushes through it as he showers and then rushes to hook his arm up, _try_ to do his hair, and fumble through his clothes to find something decent and _clean_ , because laundry is always his enemy.

The simple spritz of his scent blockers is always last, rubbed into his wrist and neck in an attempt to dull it from their source. He doesn't forget because it's his reminder, his _lie_.

Usually on the mostly empty subway ride to work, he spends it texting Vaughn to try to wake him up as he's on call with Yvette. Yvette is only awake because she enjoys watching the early morning gossip channels and she's more than willing to share what she learns as she gets ready for work. Vaughn spends his nights gaming, sometimes early into the morning, but Rhys doesn't mind being an annoying wake-up call. 

Once off the subway, however, he bids Yvette goodbye and pulls up his schedule through his eye. Bathed in blue, the towering building of Hyperion seems almost welcoming. The second he steps through the door he knows it's going to be chaos.

(Some days, when he's not running late, he'll stop by the Hub before making his way to the elevators. This early in the morning there's only three places open. One of them is a cafe that makes the best coffee, and it's usually the same girl that works there that often makes Rhys taste test new drinks she comes up with. Vaughn keeps saying she's flirting. Rhys isn't sure.)

From there, it's a long trip up to Jack's office. Because he's a pompous _jerk_ , Jack has dedicated a whole floor to his office. The very top floor of Hyperion always looks so _empty_ to him when he first steps out of the elevator. A good portion of the room is empty besides the sleek, white desk where Jack's Secretary of the Month sits (though, to be fair, Meg has lasted far longer than most). 

It used to be Rhys's desk, once upon a time ago, back when he had first started out working directly under Jack. Eventually, though, his complaints about the workload not only gave him a promotion, but it also got him a desk in Jack's office as well as an _actual_ secretary. Rhys also might've pouted a bit— it really does go a long way. 

The idea is that he's supposed to get there before Jack, but that usually is never the case. Rhys has walked into the office to see Jack working in the dark, having never left the night before, and he's seen Jack asleep at his desk (or on his couch, which Rhys always berates because it's one thing to fall asleep while you're working and another to make a conscious decision to just not go home and sleep). He’s walked in on Jack making phone calls, or Jack in meetings, and a few times he's even seen Jack with _guests,_  people he considers friends, and Rhys had been so surprised the first time he met any of them that he'd almost knocked himself out tripping over his own feet.

(Nisha is absolutely terrifying and no, Jack can't change his mind on that.)

Jack usually tells him off for not bringing him breakfast, but Rhys always makes a beeline for the coffeepot on the far left of the room anyway.

Rhys's days are normal and filled with meetings and emails and notes and calls. His scent blockers shouldn't change any of that. It _shouldn't_.

(He’s never been particularly lucky, anyway.)

 

* * *

 

Rhys has never been a fan of doctors.

He'd met up with his first omega doctor when he was fifteen and was prescribed both a low dose suppressant and scent blockers. He'd been fine with the routine of picking up his prescriptions when he needed them and only going in for check-ups when they were absolutely necessary every five years.

What he's hoping for is a simple blood test, maybe someone checking over his prescriptions and realizing they'd accidentally given him a lower dosage than normal. They _do_ start out with taking his blood, pricking his finger and then asking him to wait while they do some standard, procedural tests. When his usual doctor enters the room he sits up straight and nervously crosses his arms. “What's the verdict, Viv?”

The no nonsense alpha frowns at him and then down at the ECHOdevice she's holding. “How long have you been on your current dosage, exactly?”

Rhys blinks, trying to count backwards. His last check-up was three years ago and his suppressants got minor tweaking that time, but before that— he couldn't recall. “Maybe 13 years? At least 10,” he tries, giving up on the numbers.

The frown on Vivienne’s face makes him wince. He's usually pretty good at keeping track of things, but his migraines had run pretty rampant when he first started using scent blockers, trying to figure out which one would be best for him, so the timing is a bit hazy.

“Regardless, that's quite a long time to be using one type of scent blocker and have it still work,” she tells him, looking back down at her report.

That gets his attention. “What do you mean by that?”

She meets his gaze for a few seconds and then shakes her head, frowning once more. “Scent blockers aren't an end all cure. They're not really meant to be used routinely. Yours might've lasted long because it's the strongest prescription out there, but—” With a shrug she trails off, leaving Rhys to fill in the blanks. 

“So.” Rhys starts, stops. There's something she's trying to tell him besides the obvious, but it takes a few moments for his brain to wrap around it. “What you're saying is that basically my body has run through the _strongest_ scent blocker prescription out there and it's… what? Worn through its effectiveness?”

The thin line of her lips tilt in something vaguely sympathetic. Or disappointed. He's not entirely sure.

“Scent blockers are not something _natural_ , mind you, and your body treats them as such. You do not get ill from the same disease twice because your body grows immune to it.” Vivienne’s eyes slips down to the ECHO in her hands again, and he briefly wonders if she's ever _not_ frowning. He doubts it, if her job consists of dealing with idiots like him. “The strength of the blockers you were using fought it off for a while, but your body adapted as it was due to.”

It's normal, he tells himself. Scent blocker prescriptions change all the time because people grow and change and get used to things.

Still, the thought doesn't stop the panicked edge creeping into his mind. What do you do when you run through the strongest of the strongest blockers when you're in your _twenties_?

(The answer, he thinks, is just to off yourself at the news to save yourself the trouble.)

“What now?” he questions, voicing his fears.

Her fingers begin tapping then, a steady, rhythmic beat that reminds him of his code monkey days, crunching through numbers nonstop. “We could try taking you off blockers for a while.” She sounds hesitant, unsure. “If your body stays off them for a few months there's a chance you could use them again.”

Rhys hates himself a little for perking up, because he knows what she isn't saying here, at least. Even if he was able to use them again, it wouldn't be anything permanent. It would be a last resort, he knows.

“And until then?”

This time, her mouth twists up into something more sardonic, and Rhys almost prefers the perpetual grimace. “I'd suggest finding a perfume you can tolerate, Rhys. You're in it for the long haul.”

 

* * *

 

Rhys doesn't tell Jack anything else about it. Mostly because it isn't Jack's business, frankly, but also because he doesn't need anything else for Jack to use as ammunition over his head.

To his surprise and (somewhat) disappointment, Jack doesn't bring it up either after Rhys gives the short answer of _I'll live_ , which is all Jack really cares to know. It's a shame, to be honest— he was already planning on ways to taunt his boss with the prospect of news he wanted to know but would never be able to hear.

Whatever. Business as usual.

The headaches, however, start a few days after his doctor's visit. He's not sure if it means his body has finally realized that something's changed or what, but the timing sort of works out. He spends a suppressed heat in his apartment surrounded in nothing but his own scents. It's comforting but also _intense,_  being able to smell himself so clearly, and he wonders how this will all work out when he goes back into work.

When he steps into the Hyperion building Monday morning after an unusually short one day heat, he walks in and then almost walks back out. Rhys pushes through the absolute _mess_ that the lobby is, and thanks himself for his own foresight to come in earlier than usual (which is saying something, because the last time Rhys was up at 3 in the morning it was when he was pulling all-nighters in college) because no one else is around to get into the elevator with him.

Ideally, he wants to mark up the office before Jack shows up, so that way it'll be easier to get used to Jack's too much too powerful scent. That's the plan, anyway, or it would be if he didn't enter the office to see Jack already up at his desk.

Rhys very consciously doesn't move from the office doors.

It absolutely _reeks_ of Jack, and it makes something in Rhys itch. (He doesn't try to think too deeply into it.)

“Have you been cooped up here since I left?” he asks, peering around the office as if it's a brand new space. He catches a hint of his own scent but it's concentrated more to the left of the room, where his desk is, and faint. The urge to mark it all up rises in him, an odd, unfamiliar feeling he can't recall having before.

He tells himself that he just wants to reclaim his space.

Jack’s godawful intense alpha scent _should_ be ruining his safe space, but it's mellow right now, something almost but not quite calm, and his stupid dumb body finds it acceptable.

Jack blinks up at him slowly, as if he's surprised to see that Rhys is there. He probably only heard Rhys's voice and not what he actually said, which only confirms a few things when he opens his mouth. “What are you doing here on a Saturday, cupcake?” he asks, and Rhys groans in frustration.

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you were here all weekend.” The look on Jack's face isn't promising.

Huffing, Rhys finally heads over to his desk, ignoring scent in his drive to get there. He digs out a granola bar from the top drawer and throws it in Jack's direction. The alpha gives it a glance before slowly looking up in Rhys's direction.

Before he can say anything, Rhys crosses his arms. “Eat that and go _home,_  Jack.”

The hazy, sleepy look on Jack's face clears up a little. “You tryna tell me what to do, Rhysie?” he asks, voice low.

Rhys rolls his eyes. _Alphas_ , honestly. Especially this one. “I'm _trying_ to ask you to take care of yourself a bit more.” With a frown, he walks up to Jack's desk. The overwhelming need to comfort and care for Jack overrides his incoming headache, at least for now. “What's so important it couldn't wait two days?”

“Shields,” Jack tells him, leaning back in his seat. (Rhys resists smoothing out the furrow of Jack's eyebrows, electing to keep his slightly shaking hands at his side. Jack initiates touch, not the other way around, and it's safer for them to keep it that way. He just might've forgotten exactly how sensitive his nose was and how partial he was to responding to scents.)

Rhys tries to recall any ongoing shield projects they had but comes up short. “Since when?”

Jack's grin is lazy as he finally manages to make eye contact and hold it. “New stuff, kiddo. They're using the same base code as the rest of our shields. Just a couple of morons in programming who can't get the damn things to work, for some reason,” he drawls, scowling in the direction of his ECHO tablet. With a flick of his wrist he pulls up a screen and then turns the panel displaying it so Rhys can see. Though he used to be a code monkey himself, the long lines of numbers and letters now just make the dull throbbing behind his eyes spread.

“This seems a lot more code than necessary for our shields,” Rhys points out as Jack tabs down, staring unseeingly at the lines. “What is it we're trying to do, exactly?”

Jack snorts. “More elemental experiments.”

“Isn't that more of Maliwan's area?” Rhys asks, crossing his arms. They had _just_ gotten out of a spat with Maliwan, and Rhys wasn't eager for the meetings, or the _paperwork_ , another disagreement would bring.

Jack waves him off, eyes still scanning codes. “Think more preemptive measures, pumpkin.”

It's not unheard of, but not really the purpose of a shield, he knows. “Torgue already has spike shields.”

This time, the glare that Jack gives him makes him wary, and Rhys is reminded of the fact that Jack should probably get some sleep, and _soon._

“They're trying to experiment with eridium,” he says before diverting his attention back to the code. At that, Rhys frowns. It's always… _risky_ , to say the least, trying to mess with the still unknown substance. At least it explains why they're having issues getting it to work.

It still doesn't solve the issue of Jack being holed up in the office for days on end with no sleep and likely no food either. “Why don't you take a break?” Rhys offers softly, putting his hands on Jack's desk. “I can go to some of your boring meetings, take some notes, reschedule the rest for later. Hmm?”

Jack squints up at him, hands hovering over his keyboard. “You don't like to reschedule meetings.”

Rhys doesn't even fault him for his suspicious tone because it's the truth. Even the thought of moving around the meetings planned today makes him want to tear up a little. “I just think you deserve a break, yeah? You've been here for days trying to fix someone else's mistake. When was the last time you ate?” He might be mother-henning a little— sue him.

When Jack doesn't look convinced, Rhys pulls out bigger guns. “I'm just _worried,_ Jack. Who is supposed to take care of Hyperion if you aren't taking care of yourself?”

He’s not really sure what does it, exactly— the soft tone, the mention of Hyperion, Rhys bringing up _feelings_ — but Jack pushes away from his desk with a grunt. “Alright, alright I get it, you can't do anything around here without me.” The yawn he lets out has nothing to do with his decision, Rhys is sure.

Rhys pointedly places the granola bar in Jack's hands as he makes his way around his desk, and it's a testament to how tired he is that he just accepts it with no complaint.

“I'll be back after a nap,” he tells Rhys as he nears the office doors, which he was expecting to hear anyway. He knows he won't be seeing Jack until tomorrow. “You could probably stand to tone it down on the perfume though, cupcake. It's a little strong.”

Flushing, Rhys turns away and decides not to mention that he isn't wearing any at all.


	2. replacement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well. here's to a chapter two. sorry it's a bit short-- I havent really decided how long this story is going to be but I'm a slow writer so chapters are probably going to stay about this long

Life, for all it's new smells, goes on as usual. Nothing in Rhys's schedule changes besides the act of using his blockers being replaced by a subtle, slightly vanilla-scented perfume Yvette recommends to him. The perfume is more for his nose than anyone else's, and the slight scent of it is easy enough to be distracted and soothed by when things start getting overwhelming.

(The first time he'd gone to lunch with Vaughn and Yvette sans scent blockers, despite telling them numerous times beforehand that he'd be without, they wouldn't stop  _ staring _ at him. Unthinkingly, Rhys wiped around his mouth but nothing stuck to his skin. “Is there something on my face? Guys?”

Yvette flushed a little, turning away first. “I forgot how much of an  _ omega _ you smell like,” she explained, not unkindly. Rhys understood it, in a way. It was a big change, going from nothing to what Rhys knew was a strong scent. Perks of blockers and all that.

“Aw, are you saying I smell nice?” Rhys leaned forward with a grin, batting his eyelashes at her.

The instant grimace on her face made Vaughn laugh, and Rhys pouted. That was fine, he'd remember that later. “Don't worry, your personality sets it off nicely.”

Rhys shrugged. “Can’t have it all, I guess,” he mourned, pouting a bit.

Vaughn had paused, looking around the Hub of Heroism with sudden curiosity. “Others seem to be noticing it as well,” he pointed out, vaguely gesturing to two female alphas sitting a few tables away with their eyes glued to Rhys's back. Once he pointed it out, however, Rhys noticed that a  _ lot _ of eyes were on him, and he suddenly felt uncomfortable. 

“Well,” he said, hoping his chair would swallow him if he leaned back into it enough, “there isn't much I can do for that now.” If he looked upset or worried, he hoped neither of them noticed.

Yvette gave him a once-over with critical eyes and then dug through her purse. “I don’t know how well it'll work, but it doesn't hurt to try.” When she pulled out a little bottle of her perfume, Rhys’s throat seemed to close up, choked on emotion as he was.

He really does have the best friends ever.)

Despite his sleepy comment about perfume, Jack doesn't mention it again. Rhys isn't sure if it's because Jack seems to be avoiding his personal space as if he's diseased or if, in his own way, Jack is trying to be respectful of his new circumstances. Regardless, Rhys appreciates it.

Outside of the office, however, he starts to realize new things. He's not used to picking up so many smells at once anymore, so when he heads to meetings with Jack he trails after him, close enough that Jack's scent overpowers everything else. Once they're seated, though, several eyes turn to him which is…  _ new _ , to say the least.

There's poorly veiled  _ interest _ in some of those eyes (Rhys has been around Hyperion executives and department heads for years now he knows not to fuck with any of them, literally and figuratively), and it makes him shiver, angling his chair towards Jack so he doesn't have to look at them. Jack raises an eyebrow at the action but doesn't say anything, a blessing in disguise. The meeting starts once Jack turns his pointed look to the people around them, and the distraction pulls eyes away from him. 

Rhys pretends like he doesn't notice any of them taking covert glances but it's hard to ignore when the stares he's getting are so  _ obvious _ . His instincts are screaming at him, demanding that he hides, makes himself smaller, less noticeable, but he closes himself off to the feeling. He's an omega but he's not  _ helpless _ . 

Except, except—

Beside him, Jack is quiet. He's barely making a passable attempt to look like he's listening to the poor PA stuttering her way through her presentation. Every few moments he nods, though Rhys can't tell if he's actually paying any sort of attention or if it’s just a learned condition from sitting through boring meetings. This one is worst than most, considering it's just department check-ups and the girl still speaking keeps pausing as though she's waiting for something. Rhys is just glad he can go through recordings and pick out any important bits later. 

At one point Jack catches his eye and grins— _ leers,  _ really, but it's one of his nicer ones— and Rhys rolls his eyes and looks away, but his scent must pick up or  _ something _ because suddenly the room is able-to-hear-a-pin-drop silent, and now he's very aware that all eyes are on him. 

If it wasn't his fault, he probably would've laughed at how fast it got quiet, because Hyperion isn't really a quiet kind of place, after all. But then the silence stretches, and the eyes don't waver from him, and the quick amusement turns to discomfort, and—

Jack growls, once, something low and short in his throat, and everyone moves back into action. Rhys tries in a failed attempt to pay attention to the rest of the meeting, but the girl talking is just stuttering now and no one seems eager to take her place. Contemplating, he folds his fingers together in his lap before sneaking a look at Jack from the corner of his eye. To his surprise, Jack is already looking at him. Rhys blinks a couple times, but when Jack raises an eyebrow in question, Rhys just nods and turns away.

It goes unspoken between them, but some emotion in Rhys  _ swells _ at the protective display. He has to push away the urge to preen, because that's another omega trait he forgot he had and he doesn't need to start doing it now.

From what Rhys can gather through his various reactions in the ongoing days  _ and _ the reactions of others, Rhys  _ smells.  _ Which, in hindsight, he knew was going to happen and Yvette and Vaughn had warned him about, but even with the perfume masking most of it he's still throwing off something strong. He's not entirely decided on if it's good or bad, either, considering that so far it's just gotten him a lot of looks, but he knows sooner or later the other shoe is gonna drop. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


For all that Jack likes to promote that he's the big bad alpha boss and that's he's always around, seemingly watching from behind every corner, he's very bad at actually executing the idea. Rhys was amused by it when he first realized it, and he still is now, especially when most of it just comes down to Jack being  _ lazy. _ For all of Jack's genius, he doesn't get yet that Rhys has him figured out (most of the time).

Rhys has met the people Jack associates with. He knows Wilhelm, who looks more tough than he is, with an ex-military background but a soft heart beneath the exterior. He's made a shaky friendship with Nisha, who is sharp eyes and a sharper smile, a tongue that holds secrets held close to her heart like a well dealt hand. He's met Timothy, the only family Jack has left, who may look exactly like his brother but holds a softness in him that Rhys knows Jack has never possessed. 

Rhys  _ knows _ them. It doesn't stop Jack from asking Tim to step in for him. 

There's no warning for it, nothing to tell Rhys that Jack's decided to play hooky. He wasn't sure what to make of it the first time he found Tim sitting in Jack's chair, but Tim had put up a Jack persona so well that Rhys just rolled with it, only stopping to mentally move around meetings in his head.

Rhys doesn't say anything about it. If Jack wants to pretend, so can he. 

The next time Timothy “steps in” for Jack after being off the blockers, Rhys can tell instantly. (Well. He can tell right away even  _ without _ scent guiding him but— nobody needs to know that. Especially not Jack.)

It's something that hasn't happened in a while, but occasionally it will and usually for dumb reasons. In the past Rhys has let it slide, carefully acknowledging Tim and then making sure the more aggravating messages get saved for when Jack comes back.

This time it causes Rhys to pause at the entrance to the office— not enough for Timothy to notice, because that  _ is _ very obviously Tim even though all he's doing is scrolling through emails on Jack's computer— but enough to where he stumbles and almost misses a step in his surprise. 

Even when Tim very convincingly plays as Jack, he could never hope to simply take up space the way Jack's presence does. (Rhys, for his part, isn't sure if anyone else notices.) There’s  _ that _ , and there's also the suddenly very obvious hint of  _ happy mated omega _ beneath Jack's lingering scent. 

For all that he knew about Jack and his family and friends, Rhys had never known that Timothy was an omega, which. Huh. Probably explains something. 

Normally Rhys would just let it be and play along, but the smell of  _ Jack _ is close and fresh. He's not sure why, but there's something  _ off _ , something  _ wrong _ , and he drops the facade immediately. “Where's Jack?”

If he weren't so… for lack of better words,  _ worried _ about Jack, Rhys probably would've been worried for Tim and the emotions that pass through his easily readable face. As it stands, the surprise confusion disbelief shows that Timothy had no idea that Rhys always knows, which is probably his fault, but whatever.

Tim opens his mouth on an inhale, intending to answer, and then stops short. “Jack never mentioned that you were an omega.” The confusion is back on his face again. 

Frowning, Rhys begins to say the same, but Timothy backtracks almost immediately. “Not that there's anything wrong with that! I mean, me too, so uh, that's perfectly fine. It's just that the last girl who was the PA was an alpha and Jack never shut up about how annoying she was. And I've seen you a few times and didn't smell anything so I assumed you were a beta and that's why he didn't mention it but,  _ wow _ .”

Rhys blinks once, twice. He thought he had been good at discerning who Tim was when he wasn't playing Jack but he couldn't have been more off the mark. Timothy is so normal that he's almost  _ boring _ . (A little nervous and definitely talkative and there's  _ nothing _ wrong with that, of course but. Compared to Handsome Jack? Boring.)

Unsure what exactly to say to that, Rhys goes back to his original question. “Why are you filling in today?”

Blushing, Timothy scratches the back of his head and,  _ oh,  _ they share the same face but Tim is  _ cute. _ “Nothing bad, promise. He's just been up all weekend working on some project and I forced him to leave so he could get some sleep.”

They both share a look, brief, private. Despite the fact that neither of them have really talked much with each other, they both know what Jack is like. “Was it the shields again?” Jack has  _ still _ been working on what's supposed to be their new shield line, but to no avail. Rhys has been meaning to look through the coding himself (that  _ used _ to be his job, once upon a time ago) but sometimes it's just best to let Jack do his business and think he's fixed it all on his own.

If it's still being an issue that's causing Jack to skip out on sleep, he might have to fold and start looking into it himself.

Tim shrugs, sending him a guilty look, but it's more than enough of an answer. Rhys sighs, pulling up Jack's schedule on his eye. He  _ really _ doesn't want to look over those shields.

“Alright,” he says, brushing it off. “There's a meeting in 20. Let's go down and then I can figure the rest out later.”

It's some marketing meeting, which just means they're going to be looking at a bunch of adverts and sales pitches for products Rhys hasn't been paying attention to lately. It's a little selfish, but Rhys is alright with letting Timothy sign off on them, safe if the knowledge that if Jack wants to bitch about any of them he can blame it on his brother and then himself.

The meeting goes off without much of a hitch, but there's a scent niggling at his nose that remains at the forefront of his mind. It's subtle, likely marred by blockers or unpleasantly clashed with a perfume, but something about it is familiar. 

Rhys gets his answer as the meeting room begins to clear out in the form of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Rhys,” Hugo Vasquez says, and it feels like the other shoe has dropped. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The first time Rhys really  _ met _ Jack was because of Vasquez, in a weird, roundabout kind of way. 

(Before it was simple glances, a quick peak at him here or there. Hyperion was big, but it wasn't big enough to hide from Handsome Jack. It was especially difficult not to see him when Rhys spent a good majority of his internship in the Hub of Heroism, where the man had often frequented. At the time Rhys had always been a little starstruck that Handsome Jack ate the same food as everyone else and didn't have a private chef constantly catering to his needs. 

Listening to Handsome Jack yelling about hamburgers or pretzels or coffee had been an  _ experience. _ )

But Jack had never spoken to him, specifically, until the Vasquez incident. 

It had started like this: Rhys and Vasquez went to the same college. They kind of knew each other, were in some of the same classes. They hadn't really ever talked to each other until they paired up for a project their junior year. Working with him hadn't been— well, it hadn't been the  _ best _ thing ever, but it went smoothly and they learned that they  _ could _ work together, which was better than some of the other groups in their class who presented half formed ideas and barely completed projects. 

Learning that Vasquez was also going to work at Hyperion was the start of a downfall. It meant competition, someone who would inevitably be in Rhys’s way. (He wished he'd known just how much of a problem Vasquez would be from the start.) Rhys took it in stride, though, and Vasquez started talking about working together to make it big in Hyperion and Rhys had  _ listened _ to him. 

It was a shaky alliance. 

They weren't ever in a relationship, thank god, but there had been _ something _ there, a hesitant partnership, reluctant teamwork. 

Rhys’s friends told him he was stupid and crazy for even giving Vasquez the time of day, and he'd known it when they tried talking him away from whatever plans Vasquez had, but he'd gone through with it anyway. Call it greed, ambition, feeling hopeless— whatever it was, it started him down a dangerous path. 

He'd admittedly forgotten about their warnings when nothing happened for two years after they'd gotten into Hyperion. There'd been promotions, of course, people praising them for being  _ good _ in their field. Rhys, high and giddy off how _ successful _ they had become in such a short time, may have let himself fall into Vasquez’s bed once or twice (it had only happened twice, and never when Rhys was close to his heat, but it was still something he hated to think back on).

And then Henderson announced that he'd be retiring. It was something Rhys had been expecting, honestly, but it sent everyone in the department into a panic and people like Rhys, people who actually had a shot of stepping up, into motion. 

The rumors about Rhys start a few days later. 

No one would say they knew where or how the rumors started, but they didn't need to. Whispers of how  _ easy _ Rhys was took less than an hour to spread through their office and only a day before their entire department knew.

It made trying to be promoted difficult when Rhys could see eyes on him calculating just how simple it would be to get Rhys in their bed. He could remember standing in a conference room trying to make himself look confident and like a leader and then hearing Vasquez’s voice: “Omegas like that really shouldn't be put in high positions like that, huh? It gets to their head.” And that was it. There'd be no way to talk himself out of it without having his words spun against him. 

Going back to the office the next day stung, but Rhys was determined not to be phased. Eyes turned to him and he had dutifully ignored them. He sat at his desk and worked the whole day and, after everyone had left, he sat there and felt a bit sorry for himself, only for a few seconds, before getting up and leaving. 

Once he was outside the building, he'd slammed the folder he'd forgotten he was carrying to the ground. “Stupid, fucking  _ asshole! _ Doesn't even deserve the job because he's a fucking idiot—!”

The dark amused chuckle behind him had stopped him, and he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when he turned around, but Handsome Jack leaning against the side of the building smoking a cigarette really hadn't been it.

Rhys would never know if it had been shock or just the tone in his voice when he'd asked, “What's got you in a twist, cupcake?” but he'd answered honestly.

And Jack had… had  _ listened _ to him, which didn't seem to match up to any of the rumors Rhys had heard about him. But then Jack’s hand was on his shoulder, warm and distracting. “You know what would piss them all off? Showing that you've got something better than what they'll ever have.”

“And how would I do that?” Rhys questioned, blinking up at him. The promotion would've been the only way to get a leg up on anyone else and that opportunity was gone, so far out of grasp that it wasn't even a idea anymore. 

Jack's grin reminded Rhys of the Cheshire Cat, cryptic and alluding and mysterious, but damn if Rhys didn't want in on the secret. “Work for me.”

It wasn't a good work pitch, but Rhys took the bite. “Don't I already, sir?” he asked, and he didn't think it was possible but Jack's smirk grew. 

The hand on his shoulder was replaced by the man's arm, tucking him into his side. “Ever thought about being an assistant?”

Rhys hadn't, really, but he'd been willing to give it a go. 

(Rhys didn't expect it to start out terrifying, never knowing if or what would send Jack into one of his famous “tantrums.” Once he got used to the man's moods it became easier, but it didn't help that at first he was nothing more than a glorified errand boy, running across departments to deliver messages. 

Only later on did he realize that the next time he went into  _ his _ department he was going in there as someone with a higher pay raise than any of them could even begin to comprehend and that— that had felt pretty nice.)

From there, simply being an  _ assistant  _ was an easy promotion, especially after Rhys realized that Jack went through secretaries like they were pennies. When he promoted Rhys to the spot he expected the same treatment, but when he wasn't fired after two weeks,  _ three _ , he let himself get into the job.

When the paperwork started piling up, Rhys got under the assumption that more than half of the time, Jack's secretaries  _ quit _ rather than get fired. God, but did Jack have a lot of shit that needed to be looked after.

Rhys brought it up with Jack, hesitant. “I think maybe I should get an assistant.” The waiting area before Jack's office  _ was _ decently sized, with plenty of room for another desk, and he could do with some company.

Jack had instantly gotten grumpy, and his pout was almost childish. “But you're  _ my _ assistant.”

“Maybe get an actual secretary, then?” Jack hadn't looked any more pleased at the suggestion. “I can't answer phone calls  _ and _ sort through emails  _ and  _ manage your schedule everyday. There's way too many people trying to get ahold of you at once.” Rhys never remembered his internship being so fast paced, but the fact was that if you didn't  _ push _ for what you wanted, it was simply buried beneath everyone else's ideas.

So Rhys had gotten a fancy desk of his own in Jack's office and a secretary, no matter how temporary each one was, and the sweet, sweet satisfaction of messing with Vazquez’s schedule from up at the top.

The first couple times had been fun, too, especially considering that he often made Vazquez come in when Jack was already in a shit mood, and usually days before he was due to give his reports, anyway. The joy of managing Jack's day meant that he could put in whatever the hell he wanted and Jack almost never questioned it.

But those are scheduled meetings, something that Rhys has time to prepare for and gloat about from the safety of his desk. 

Here, now, outside an emptying meeting room? It's not ideal, and the lack of warning makes Rhys reel. Jack isn't here to command his own space and, in turn, Rhys's space, so there's nothing stopping Vazquez from trying to get close to him, which is what he's doing, and—

“Hey,” Timothy's voice calls out, and suddenly he's standing right next to Rhys and putting his hand on the back of Rhys's neck. From another omega, the touch is comforting, a sign of support. The tone is all  _ Jack _ when he speaks, though. “Everything alright here?”

The sneer he makes in Vazquez's direction almost makes Rhys snort, but the dumbfounded alpha can't tell the difference. Go figure.

“What? Oh, no, sir, everything alright and perfect here, no worries. Rhys and I were just catching up, you see,” Vazquez manages to get out, stumbling a bit over his words.

Tim glances at Rhys from the corner of his eyes, and Rhys takes a deep breath. “It's fine. I think we're going to be late to another meeting though if we don't start moving.”

It's a lie, but Vazquez doesn't know that.

With a shrug, Timothy starts heading back towards the elevator. The hand on his neck slides to his shoulder, gently guiding him along. “Yeah, yeah, pumpkin. Whatever you say.”

Maybe, Rhys decides, Tim is his favorite Lawrence twin.


End file.
